Paper Thin
by MissingOlitz2
Summary: The house in Vermont is for sale. Olivia is forced to face the demons of her past when she returns to retrieve her belongings. Can she give up on the dream that she and Fitz shared? Can she close the door on that chapter of her life forever? Rated M for future content. Your feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

The leaves were turning, red, oranges, and yellows a stark contrast to the overcast sky. I watched the house appear over the crest of the long driveway and fought all of the emotions this place evoked. The place that had once been part of a grand dream would no longer be mine in a matter of weeks. We pulled to a stop just outside the side door and I slid my sunglasses back over my eyes, thanking Daniel as I stepped out into the fall afternoon. Butterflies floated in my stomach when I pushed the key into the lock and turned the knob then vanished, replaced again by overwhelming sadness as I stepped into the world of what could have been.

The door closed with a click behind me and I wondered for the millionth time if I had made the right decision when I put our dream house on the market. The realtor would arrive soon, I would sign papers, begin to gather the last of my belongings, the things that would seem alien elsewhere, the things that would always be Vermont, and I would watch the dream of a family and a life in Vermont disappear in the rear view mirror.

"The fieldstone fireplace built by hand," I recited walking through the living room, my hand skimming the sofa table we had picked out on a stroll through a local flea market. The gloomy day seemed to fit my mood and I pulled my sweater tighter around my shoulders. Placing a few logs in the fireplace, then adding some kindling, I went in search of a lighter thinking one last fire wouldn't hurt.

"Marble countertops…." I remembered the day Fitz first showed me the house like it was yesterday. Remembered making love in front of a raging fire, my name dripping from his lips, carried on the breath of his desire and his all-consuming love for me. The memories tucked into every corner of the house were powerful, easily taking me back to the days we spent walking hand in hand through our orchard, sitting on our porch watching dusk turn to nightfall, holding each other in the wee hours of the mornings as we prepared to part. I shivered again, a combination of the chill in the air and the ghosts of days that had long passed. I lit the fatwood and watched the flame dance, resolved that the only way I would move on was to sell the house.

Leaving the fire to warm the family room, I wandered up the stairs, sturdy Vermont pine smooth beneath my palm as I ascended. The house had begun as a promise, a life we would share, children we would raise, and growing old together, now every room held a measure of regret and unfulfilled dreams. I slowly opened the door to the nursery. The crib was long gone, Fitz having taken it back to his family home not long after I left town. Fitz had chosen a hue called "lemon soufflé" for the room, surprising me with the perfectly appointed space for our future child during one of our many weekends spent picnicking, hiking, and spending quality time perfecting our baby-making skills. The yellow had seemed cozy and welcoming when he had opened the door that summer day. We talked of late nights watching our son or daughter sleep, rocking them to sleep in the antique rocker that had been passed down in Fitz's family for generations. I shook myself from the memory, brushing the tears from my eyes before stepping back into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind me.

As I walked past the home office on my way to the master bedroom the doorbell rang. Appreciating that I could postpone saying my goodbyes to the room that by far held the most memories for me, I rushed down the stairs.

"Susan," I smiled as I opened the heavy door. The crisp air hit my face and with it came the memory of autumn bonfires with Karen, Gerry, and Teddy, watching the two older Grant children rake leaves into piles so their younger brother could jump into them again and again, carving pumpkins, and Fitz hiring a nearby farmer to take us on a romantic hayride.

"Ready to get the place sold?" she asked, unbuttoning her coat, "I don't know much about the new family but from what I understand they have 2 kids. They love the yard, what you and President Grant did with the gardens and they just adored the orchard. They said they always dreamed of making…."

"Jam," I finished, tears again pricking my eyes.

Susan gave me a kind smile and placed her hand on my arm. Intellectually I knew that selling the house was what I needed to do but I couldn't stand the thought of someone else making jam in that kitchen, someone else's plants growing in the greenhouse, strangers wondering what caused the scratch in the hardwood floor near the sink or the small dent in the wall at the end of the hallway.

I offered Susan a beverage as she took a seat at the dining room table and began pulling papers from her briefcase. Returning with a glass of water for her and a wine for myself, anything to take away the nerves I now felt deep in my belly, I sat and looked over the pages before me.

"So this is their offer?" I tried not to sound as dejected as I felt but Susan's expression told me I had failed miserably.

"Maybe you're not ready to sell," she suggested with a kind pat of her hand, "It has to be hard to let go of such a beautiful, peaceful place."

It wasn't the place, it was everything it stood for, it was the places in that house where we hid away when the world got to be too much, it was the nights we spent talking about our dreams, it was the weeks I spent crying, mourning for Gerry, for Fitz, and for what I thought my mother had taken away from him. Those nights I spent wrapped in Fitz's Navy sweatshirt grieving for what we had lost, the same things I still wept for in the early morning hours – our house, our family, our future.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready," I replied, trying to collect myself, "but it's something I need to do."

Susan turned her attention back to the mounting stack of papers before us and I did my best to focus on the task at hand.

"Okay, that should be everything," Susan smiled, straightening the papers, then gesturing to the first, "This is their offer, ten thousand above your asking price. They want everything, the furniture that's left, the artwork, the bed in the master, they just love it all."

"Everything?" It never occurred to me that someone would want things exactly as we had them and for a moment I felt defensive, unsure whether I could leave the house knowing that someone would sleep in the bed where Fitz talked about our future children or sit at the kitchen table where we played Trivial Pursuit and Fitz always let one of the kids win, "I really have to think about that."

"We have two days to get back to them. Think it over and let me know." I was so thankful to have Susan, someone who knew selling the house wasn't just about the property or the material goods.

I took a long swallow of wine then stood to go retrieve the bottle. It was going to take more than a glass for me to look over the itemized list of exactly what the prospective buyers wanted to remain in the house. When I returned Susan was engrossed in a hushed conversation on her cell phone so I picked up the list of items and began to read them over one at a time.

_Bed, bedside tables, bench, slipper chair – Master bedroom_

_ Sofas, coffee table, end tables, sofa table – Family Room_

_ Table, chairs, hutch – Dining Room_

_ Table, chairs, stools – Kitchen_

_ Desk, bookcases – Office_

I wiped at my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater unaware I had even been crying. Seeing my life, the time spent with Fitz in this house, catalogued so neatly, so callously, on the page was a shock to say the least. I composed myself as I continued looking over the list. Finally, after deciding it was all bordering on too much, I lay down the paper and filled my glass again.

"Give it to them," I whispered into my glass, "Whatever they want, just give it to them."

"Are you sure? I know you and President Grant picked out some of that furniture together…" Susan looked surprised at my quick acquiescence.

"Just do it," I tipped the glass back, draining its contents, wondering if Fitz had left any scotch hidden anywhere. I made a mental note to look when I was again alone and turned my attention to Susan, "I can't allow myself to look at most of it anyway."

"I'll let them know then," she smiled, still looking unsure of my hasty decision, "We should be able to finalize a closing date in the next day or so. I'll email you the details for your approval."

We shared a short embrace at the door then I watched the petite brown-haired woman move briskly to her car and disappear from view. Alone again, I added another log to the fire, turning my hands over in the amber glow, the heat warming my chilled hands. I closed my eyes, allowing the crackle from the fire to take me back to the night Fitz told me the house was ours.

_This is the house we're going to raise a family in and grow old together. This is our house, Livvie._

"Where did you hide the scotch, Fitz?" I muttered, willing myself not to dwell on what had been as I strode up the steps to what had served as his office. I was surprised when I opened the door and found the room nearly identical to the last time I had dared to venture inside, high back leather chair behind the oak desk, bookshelves full of volumes on subjects from history and politics to science and travel. My eyes involuntarily closed and I inhaled sharply, remembering Fitz's hands running along my spine, sliding to my ass then moving to clutch my hair when he bent me over the desk. My skin heated instantly and goose bumps prickled my arms in memory of him behind me, whispering in my ear, telling me how amazing it felt to make love to me in our house.

I compelled myself to push the memory from my mind and walked to the far side of the desk, opening drawers and rummaging through their contents. It didn't occur to me to worry about what I might find until I opened the top right hand drawer and was met with a stack of papers, every note I'd ever written to him. They were neatly clipped together and appeared well-worn. I involuntarily fell back into his chair, considering the gravity of him keeping the letters. My heart both soared and shattered in that moment. Looking further through the contents of the drawer I found snapshots of us together, tickets to every movie we had seen, the key card from the hotel in Georgia, a news clipping about me joining the Grant campaign and another about me abruptly resigning. The room felt stuffy and I rushed to remove my sweater.

"Oh Fitz…." I felt the tears returning and my heart ached. Had he been back to the house since I left? Did he know I had run to Vermont when he thought I was on a white sandy beach? Or were these mementos left as a means of closure, leaving me, leaving us, in his past. Again, everything so neatly compartmentalized. Everyone had moved on, found new dreams and new endeavors, new places to call their own, new people with whom to spend time. Even I had tried to find new things and new people to occupy my time, but the truth was that I would never truly move on. He would always be part of me, the house would always be part of me. Vermont would forever be synonymous with Fitz and jam and serenity.

I quickly shoved everything back into the drawer, convinced there was no scotch to be found and frightened of finding more of our history lurking in another drawer. Looking at my watch I saw that it was nearly dinner time and decided to send Daniel into town for the makings of a simple meal. I pulled a book from the bookcase and made my way downstairs.

After sending Daniel on his way with a list of what to purchase I settled into the sofa closest to the fire, pulled the knit throw from the back of the couch around my shoulders, and opened the copy of "Fitzgerald Grant: The Early Years". I quickly lost myself in the account of Fitz's childhood, smiling at photos of him sitting in his father's large desk chair as a small child and his thumbs up when he was first elected class president. Photos of him playing baseball and football, smiling as he was crowned homecoming king and looking serious as a member of the debate team.

_Why didn't I meet you sooner? What kind of coward was I to marry her and not wait for you?_

The words echoed in my mind and I allowed myself to wonder what indeed life would have been like had I met Fitz before he married Mellie. Would our outcome have been different? Would he still have been elected President? Would we have been happy?

The sound of Daniel returning with the groceries rescued me from pursuing my thoughts further and I lay the book on the cushion of the couch before sliding my feet back into my heels and meeting him in the kitchen.

"Thank you Daniel," I smiled, taking a cursory look inside the bags he had deposited on the counter, "You're welcome to join me for dinner."

"Thank you for the invitation but I think I'll just retire to the guest quarters. I think you need your time alone here and there is a football game I was hoping to watch."

"If you change your mind I'm sure there will be plenty," I smiled brightly, a genuine smile, for the first time that day, "Thank you, Daniel…..for everything."

"My pleasure," he smiled blushingly before moving towards the door, "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything else."

I turned my attention to the bags, unpacking them and gathering the ingredients I needed. Filling a pan with water and placing it on the stove to boil, I chopped tomatoes and peeled carrots, adding them to the vegetables already cooking in the sauté pan, hoping the pasta primavera tasted as good as it had when Abby had taught me how to make it. After all of the vegetables were in the pan and the heat sizzled beneath them, I searched for something to stir them. I searched through drawers finding nothing of use before opening the drawer to the left of the sink. It had served as a junk drawer of sorts when the house was used regularly and I was surprised to find it mostly empty save a few pens, a phone book, and a small pale blue box.

My eyes fixed on the box and I tentatively reached for it, my fingers brushing over the edges. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, I knew what was in that box but I didn't know why he hadn't taken it. Willing myself to close the drawer I simply stood staring until I grasped the box, my hand seemingly working of its own volition. I braced my other hand on the counter before slowly opening the box, my knees felt weak and my head swam at the tangible evidence of his promise to me.

"Why Fitz?" I breathed still gazing at the flawless diamond.

I heard the side door open, Daniel no doubt having changed his mind about dinner, and I quickly dabbed my damp cheeks with the linen towel I held.

"So glad you're back," I enthused, not trusting myself to turn around just yet, "I keep coming across things…..they remind me of him….." I took a deep breath, looking towards the ceiling, "Why did you have to leave the ring, Fitz?" I muttered quietly, hoping Daniel hadn't moved close enough to hear.

"Because it's yours, it always was, it always will be." The voice hit me like ice through my veins. My breath caught and tears again stung my eyes as I turned to face him.

Six foot two, brown curls tousled, no doubt from running his hands through them, blue grey eyes, "Hi Livvie," his lopsided grin.

"Hi," I managed, reaching for the counter to brace myself.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I want to thank everyone for their kind feedback (both reviews and messages). I wasn't sure how this story would be received so I'm glad that a few of you are really enjoying it and would like to see it continue. My plan is to alternate chapters between Olivia's point of view and Fitz's point of view. Please continue to review. I love to hear feedback!**

I looked over the brief in my hand, reading the same sentence for at least the fourth time. Closing the folder I turned my attention to the autumn scenery speeding by the tinted windows of the limousine. Fall was always our favorite season in Vermont. Liv loved sweaters and boots and watching the leaves change, I loved exploring our 42 acre property with her, cozy fires, and weather that gave me an excuse to hold her close.

The second term of my presidency would soon come to an end bringing with it uncertainties about my future. The presidential library was planned, Karen was in her senior year of high school, Mellie and Andrew were planning their wedding, and Teddy was spoiled by everyone as the heir to the Grant legacy.

"Humph, some legacy," I muttered reaching for the half full tumbler of scotch. The amber liquid felt cool across my lips but burned slightly going down. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair, another slug of scotch the only assurance that I could still feel something other than empty and alone.

"We'll be at the house in five," Hal's voice dragged me from my thoughts.

"Thank you Hal," I finished my drink then sat the glass back in its place. It was a dreary day despite the bright leaves blanketing the ground, reminiscent of a weekend we spent moving from bed to couch and back again only leaving our cocoon when we needed sustenance. I smiled at the memory of watching Olivia scurry to the kitchen, the sheet around her draping low on her back, the flirty way she swayed her hips and quickly forgetting the food she returned with, instead pulling her back under the warm blanket in front of the fire and making love to her for hours.

When the fire burned low and night had fallen I left her dozing to sneak to the kitchen, returning with the pale blue box I'd hidden in the only drawer I knew she refused to open. I had considered how and where to propose to her for the entire month since I'd picked up the custom 3 carat cushion cut ring. The rose garden? The oval office? Camp David? Though we had memories in each of those places there was no single place that held the significance of the house I had built for her in Vermont.

It was simple, laid back, probably the most un-presidential plan I could think of, but it was very Liv, very us, and I was sure she would love it. I hadn't planned what I would say but knew speaking from the heart the right words would come. She was the love of my life, the one person I believed I couldn't live without, and that night I asked her to be my wife.

"Wait here, Sir, and I'll let you know when the agents have swept the house," a look of concern moved across his features when he noticed my red-rimmed eyes.

"Don't bother," I opened the door, instinctively taking a lungful of the fresh Vermont air before walking to the house.

"We'll leave your bags then head over to the guest house," Hal called after me, "Anything you need…."

I waved my assent and rummaged in my pocket for the keychain that held a lone key, sliding it into the lock and turning the knob. I froze when I stepped inside, every nerve humming, she was there.

"Why Fitz?" I must have been hearing things, I swore she said my name.

"So glad you're back," she must have thought I was her driver. I didn't want to frighten her but in all the times I'd escaped to Vermont since she left I hadn't seen her. Surely it meant something that she was there and I was there, I had so many questions and this was my chance to get answers. I needed to ask her why she had left, where she had gone, why she was selling our dream house, and I needed to tell her that I would never stop loving her.

"I keep coming across things…..they remind me of him," I stepped around the corner and caught my first glimpse of her. The room was warmed by the fire and I saw her sweater draped over the back of the couch. She stood at the counter, jeans hugging the curves I had memorized with my hands and my mouth, her white shirt exposed part of her shoulder and I felt instantly drawn to her. In her hand she held the ring I could no longer bear the sight of, the ring I slid onto her perfect hand that night in front of the fire, the day before our world was shattered.

I took a few steps towards her, stopped dead in my tracks when she spoke, "Why did you have to leave the ring, Fitz?"

My throat was thick and I ran my hand through my hair, composing myself to offer her an explanation. I again trusted the words from my heart, "Because it's yours, it always was, it always will be."

I saw her stiffen at the sound of my voice and considered leaving, immediately regretting my decision to speak. Then she turned and I saw confusion and pain in her eyes.

"Hi Livvie," I needed her to know that I was hurting too.

She seemed unsteady and reached for the counter but managed to utter the one word I'd been longing to hear since I watched her board a plane to who knows where, "Hi."

We stood in awkward silence, looking each other over, plotting our next moves. She shifted from one foot to the other and I tried to sort through the thoughts and feelings buzzing in my head.

"What are you doing here?" I wasn't sure if she sounded angry or sad but she nibbled her bottom lip, her nervous habit.

I cleared my throat and prepared to explain myself, "I needed to get away," her expression told me she needed a better justification than that, "Karen is studying for her SAT subject tests…I'm getting pushback on a bill in congress….Teddy is spending the week with Mellie and Andrew…..and when I'm alone…."

Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter, I shouldn't have mentioned Mellie. I couldn't believe I was having so much trouble talking to her, she was the one person to whom I could say anything. She knew my every secret and I'd never hesitated to share with her.

"I'm sorry, I should go," it wasn't the right time to ask her questions, I could see she wasn't in the frame of mind to rehash our past. I would find her again, in a better time, an easier place, and we would both get the answers we needed. I put the key in my pocket and turned to leave.

"Wait…" I heard the pain before I faced her to see it for myself.

"Liv…." I moved closer to her.

"I'm selling the house," she broke our eye contact and I heard the walls going up between us.

"It's yours to sell," I spoke gently, fighting the urge to place my hand over hers on the counter.

"Where are Tom and Hal?" she looked anywhere but at my face.

The memory of the day I found out it was Tom that had murdered my son came flooding back, enveloping me like a tidal wave, staggering me.

"Tom is gone….he's dead…" my jaw was clenched and tears clouded my vision but I could still see the look of shock on her face.

"Oh Fitz….I'm so sorry," she softened, surely not understanding my reaction.

I paced towards the family room, the fireplace I'd watch be constructed by hand, the Vermont pine ceilings we'd stared at for hours as we talked about our future together, our children, our life. My hands ran through my hair again and I considered where it all went wrong, the day that our lives changed forever, the day my eldest son was taken from me.

"He killed Gerry…." I needed to say it out loud, needed her to hear it, perhaps as a means of explanation, "The person I trusted most to protect me and my family…"

"Fitz…" I felt her hand on my shoulder, soft and gentle, comforting. My chest heaved with anger and frustration and fear.

"Liv," I spun to look at her, needing to look into her face when I shared my pain, "I trusted him to watch over my family….and you. He killed my son, took him away from me forever. He just as easily could have taken you. I put you in danger Livvie."

I collapsed onto the couch and she quickly pulled my head against her abdomen. All restraint disappeared and I reached for her, feeling anchored for the first time in the two years since she disappeared. Her fingers ran circles through my hair, the familiar comforting pattern.

"I'm okay Fitz, I can take care of myself," she whispered, her mouth moving to the top of my head, "I'm so sorry."

Her tears dampened my hair as she held me against her. All of the emotions of the past eight years rose within me and my overwhelming need for her was virtually intolerable. I thought of the time we were cheated out of, the unfulfilled promises, her pushing me away, me pushing her away, and the way our bodies understood what our minds couldn't always fathom.

"I need you Livvie," my voice betrayed my apprehension and desire.

Without a word she slid down to her knees in front of me, her hands cupping my cheeks. It was hesitant at first, her lips touching mine tentatively before our bodies quickly took over. I'd missed her, her heat, the way her curves felt pressed against me, her lips and tongue gliding over mine. I knew that we needed to stop, we wouldn't solve anything with sex, but I also knew that the last time things felt right was when I was holding Olivia Pope's bare skin against mine.

"Fitz…." her breathy voice against my ear as I slid my hands beneath her thin cotton shirt.

She reached for the buttons on my shirt but something made me grab her wrists, "Livvie….stop….we can't….." I wondered where the strength came from to say those words when all I wanted was her naked beneath me.

"What? Why?" she looked as confused as I felt, "I thought you wanted…"

"I do," I rubbed my face, ignoring the ache of the bulge in my pants, trying to compose myself, "Believe me Liv, I've thought of this every day since you left."

"Then why?"

"Your dinner is burning," I grinned, gesturing back towards the kitchen where smoke was beginning to rise from the pan of vegetables she'd been cooking on the stove.

"Shit," she jumped up and ran to the stove. I followed behind her, amused by the expletive laced musings about her dinner getting ruined.

Olivia turned a pouty face in my direction, "My dinner is ruined, I'm out of wine, I couldn't find any other booze in the house, I'm starving and sober Fitz."

"Aww…." I stuck out my bottom lip, tentatively allowing my hands to rub up and down her arms, "My poor Livvie…"

She tensed beneath my hands, "I'm not yours. Fitz, I can't do this again."

"Dinner? You can't even eat a meal with me?" I knew what she meant but I didn't have an answer so I played innocent.

"That's not what I mean," she moved out of my grasp and to the window facing the orchards blanketed in darkness, "I can't talk or think about the orchards or jam or this house….." her eyes met mine before she finished, "I can't think about us. The last two years have been awful. I can't do it anymore, I won't Fitz."

Her words stung just as if she'd slapped me across the face. I knew why she was selling the house, the same reason I'd given it to her, it hurt too much. I had only returned several times since the day she left. Once to take my great-grandmother's antique crib and another time on the anniversary of Gerry's death. The earlier I slept on the nursery floor, cried myself to sleep in mourning for the children Olivia and I would never have, the latter in the room that had been Gerry's when he visited, mourning for the loss of my son at the hands of someone I'd trusted and missing Olivia.

"I understand Livvie," I took a step back, giving her the space I sensed she needed, "I'm sorry I intruded on your time here."

Gathering my coat, I reached into the pocket for my cell phone and dialed Hal's number. I ended the call after our short conversation and pulled on my coat, "Best of luck Livvie. I am genuinely sorry."

I didn't wait for her response, knowing I wouldn't be able to walk out on her if I waited much longer. The cold night air was welcome as I hurried to the car. I was relieved to see Hal and the other three agents approaching. I needed to get as far away from the house as possible. I wasn't strong enough to endure being in the house with her, seeing the things we'd purchased together for our home, the memories hidden in every room.

A shiver ran through me, the damp cold air chilling me to the bone. I buttoned my coat and buried my hands in the pockets.

"Fitz," the pain in her voice cut straight to my heart and I willed Hal to hurry up so I could disappear from her life forever.

"Fitz!" she repeated again, this time louder and choked with tears. Against my better judgment I looked in her direction.

"I keep hurting you and you're right, it's not fair for you to have to see me and think about us. I should have left when I saw you in the kitchen. I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I broke us and it's hard for me too but I had questions and I wanted to explain," I was babbling and I just needed to leave.

"At least stay for dinner," she suggested, "warm up by the fire. Give Hal and the boys a chance to officially change your plans so Cyrus doesn't yell at you for endangering the Republic."

"I shouldn't," if I was going to leave it had to be at that moment.

"Come in, we'll order dinner, Daniel can bring us wine and scotch, I'll make you a cup of tea," her offer sounded appealing but I still resisted.

She took one final step towards me, close enough to reach for my hand and pull it from my pocket. Her touch warmed me immediately and I followed her back into the house. She gave Daniel directions to pick up dinner, wine, and a bottle of my favorite scotch as I settled into the couch. She came to sit beside me, nestled against my side, pulling a blanket around us. Neither of us spoke, just held one another. She smiled up at me and I placed a light kiss on her forehead before she snuggled against my chest again. We were back to that familiar place, in our cocoon, everything about it so familiar, the way her hair tickled my chin and her fingers roamed over my chest, but something was different. The place that had been our refuge was now a source of pain and regret.

I held her tighter against me and she ran her hand beneath my shirt in response. We had both run away, pushed the other to the brink, swore we'd never go back, fought, yelled, and cried but the simple nature of her body and mine, the quiet times when our souls could communicate, told me that there was still a chance. I kissed her hair before whispering, "I'll always love you Livvie."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I appreciate all of your kind words and messages. I'm pleased that everyone is giving this story a chance. I look forward to reading your feedback. Thank you so much for reading. **

Sitting on the couch, curled against Fitz, I felt like I was home. His smell was so familiar, his hand on my back, the beating of his heart beneath my ear. His lips on my forehead sent a quake coursing through me and I needed to touch his skin. As my fingers moved over the firm undulations of his abdominal muscles I felt a spark of hope ignite somewhere at the very depth of my being then he kissed my hair and my heart nearly stopped when he spoke.

"I'll always love you Livvie," I wasn't sure whether he had meant to say it aloud but I felt the involuntary response from my body when I moved just a little closer.

The words didn't scare me like I thought they should, it just felt so right being in his arms again. A small part of me wanted to forget all of the pain and heartache, tell him how much I wanted him, and insist he take me up to our bed.

I couldn't stifle the laugh that rose from that portion of my being that only Fitz could touch. The thought of "our" bed, "our" house, "our" anything seemed absurd after two years spent trying to get over him.

"What?" he pulled back to look into my eyes.

"Nothing," I whispered with a grin.

"Me saying I love you is funny?" he was trying to sound hurt or insulted but that devilish grin told me otherwise.

My palm moved to rest on his cheek, my thumb brushing the lips I regularly dreamed about kissing again.

"Fitz…." My face was on fire and I was positive I was blushing, losing myself in the deep blue of his gaze.

His eyes darted to my lips, which I licked, my mouth feeling suddenly dry. I turned further into him and he pulled me to straddle his lap causing a strange squeak from me. I quickly covered my mouth in embarrassment but he caught my hand and brought it to his lips.

Rational thought fled when his mouth touched my skin and I sighed, my other hand still caressing his cheek.

He dropped my hand and brought his hands to my jaw, his fingers tangling in my hair. The slight tug of his hands brought me closer to him and before I could fully comprehend what was happening, he was kissing me, or I was kissing him. His hands were beneath my t-shirt and I ground myself against the growing bulge in his pants.

Fitz had always been the most intoxicating man I had ever encountered and two years of separation and heartache did little to change that. I groaned against his mouth as I fought the buttons on his shirt finally settling for ripping the last two from their securements.

"God I missed you." Fitz shed his shirt, trailing his mouth along my throat, biting and licking until he reached my collarbone and the edge of my top.

I thought back to the night we snuggled before a raging fire, hours spent showing one another we couldn't get enough. When I had collapsed out of sheer exhaustion and allowed my eyes to close I awakened to Fitz, grinning like a school boy beside me, holding the most perfect ring and speaking the most adoring words.

_I knew the day I met you that I was put on this earth to love you. I knew the day I first kissed you that I would love you forever. I knew the day I first stood with you in this house that I never wanted to live without you. You make me want to be a better man, to do what's right. I want to fill this house with babies, our babies, Livvie. And I want to grow old with you. I want forever with you and I want to start now. Will you marry me, Olivia?_

I had cried, huge, raking sobs from deep in my soul. We had overcome so much and for me that night meant that we would make it, we had weathered the storm. But the tears and sobs of relief from that night were nothing compared to the utter heartbreak that occurred just twenty-four hours later.

"I missed you too," I let myself go, lost in the way his greedy hands warmed my skin. His hands slid beneath my bra to cup my breasts, his thumbs circling the taut peaks before flicking them gently, just the way my body had grown accustomed to in the years we were together. I wanted him and that's all that mattered.

I reached between us to unfasten the button on his jeans and he lifted his hips to help me push them down his thighs. I dragged my hand from the base of his erection to the tip, my thumb circling the head.

"Still going commando I see," I flirted, our eyes locked in a gaze that made the past two years disappear.

He felt so huge in my hand and I recalled the night in the hotel, the first time we'd made love. That night I'd panted at the sight of him, the feel of him thick in my palm, then gasped when he slowly slid into me, inch by devastating inch. He was worried about hurting me but all I wanted was him deeper, touching places that no other man would ever touch. Each collision with my spot that night sent stars bursting before my eyes and assurance that he owned my body.

I stroked him again, marveling at his girth, and wondering how I ever lived without this for two years. He tore at my remaining clothing, managing to leave me naked in a matter of seconds. We looked, him from my swollen lips to my breasts, me from his rippling chest to his length in my hand. His strong hands lifted my hips and I held my breath in anticipation of what was to come. I shivered and he moved the blanket around my shoulders. _Always taking care of me_. His hand roughly gripped the back of my head and neck and he brought my mouth down to him for a demanding kiss. I scooted closer, erasing the space between our chests and slipping down along his chest until I felt the crown of his cock against my entrance.

My rational being clawed to be heard, warning me that hours of pleasure in a sham reality would not obliterate the pain of walking away from him, losing him, living without him. But the hum of arousal drowned all admonitions, my id was in control and I was going to fuck Fitzgerald Grant III, damn the consequences.

"Mr. President, finding your scotch was no easy task," Daniel's return broke the spell over us sending Fitz scrambling for his pants and me pulling the blanket fully around my bare body, "I….I'm…..I'm so sorry. I'll go…." Daniel stuttered catching his first glimpse of us.

"No Daniel," I implored. I needed him to stay long enough to be sure I wouldn't fall back under the spell that Fitz seemed to cast upon me whenever we shared the same space.

Daniel lined the bags up on the counter, his cheeks red with embarrassment, "As I was saying, Sir, your scotch was extremely hard to find."

To his credit Fitz appeared unfazed by the intrusion and leisurely buttoned his pants, bare, chiseled chest glistening with sweat, he didn't make a move to cover himself further.

"I appreciate you going to the trouble," I marveled at the way he put everyone at ease, the way he made everyone he encountered feel like the most important person in the room, the way it felt to be the object of his singular focus. He shook hands with Daniel and moved to the cabinet for a tumbler, retrieving two in addition to a wine glass.

"Why don't you stay and enjoy the meal with us?" Fitz asked, "Have a scotch. It's the least I can do since you went to the trouble."

I felt a pang of sadness in my gut as I considered that Fitz very likely wanted to avoid a continuation of our intimacy just as much as I had convinced myself I did. Daniel looked as though he was considering Fitz's offer but the shift of his gaze from Fitz's face to mine must have encouraged him otherwise.

"I should be getting back to the guest house." He didn't wait for a response before excusing himself, leaving Fitz and I engulfed in awkwardness.

Fitz took a long drink of scotch. I absently licked my lips at the sight of his wet mouth and his Adam's apple bobbing in a deep swallow. I knew just how those lips tasted immediately after he drank his scotch. I knew the taste of his scotch mingled with the taste of me on his tongue.

Catching me looking at him, he grinned and placed the glass down on the counter then strode to the couch where he bent to pick up his shirt offering it to me. I hesitated, debating what the gesture meant.

"I ripped yours," he explained, "The least I can do is let you wear mine." _It wasn't a romantic gesture. _Even after all the pain of the past two years Fitz was still a gentleman.

I took the garment, shyly turning my back before dropping the blanket and quickly covering myself in his shirt. I heard him stifle a laugh behind me and I wondered what he found humorous in a situation that brought so much of my pain to the surface.

"Livvie," the way he said my name made my shoulders relax and a held breath gush free, "There isn't a part of you I don't know by heart." Tears pricked my eyes and I felt suffocated.

"We should eat before our dinner gets cold," I observed without allowing myself to look into his face.

Our dinner conversation flowed smoothly from current events to his children and emerging legislation to the weather. He raved about his meal and I didn't think twice about tasting the chicken he held out to me. I drank wine at a pace I didn't usually allow myself and by the time Fitz brought dessert to the table I was very clearly tipsy. We shared crème brulee then refilled our glasses and moved back to the family room.

My clothes strewn about were the only reminders of what had nearly happened between us and I quickly moved about to erase every trace of our near indiscretion.

"I'm sorry Livvie," he broke the silence that hung heavy.

"For what?" I tried to pretend I could be as unaffected as he was.

"For letting myself get carried away, for overstepping your boundaries. I had no right to touch you," he sounded as if he would continue but then disappeared into deep thought.

"I'm sorry," I couldn't let him think that what happened between us was all his doing, "Old habits die hard I suppose." I laughed but it was a forced, uncomfortable laugh. I was failing miserably at my attempts to pretend that we could co-exist without my emotions crushing me.

He laughed along with me, polite, almost patronizing, and the ache in my stomach returned. He noticed my discomfort and took a step towards me, his hand reaching for my arm.

"Liv, I didn't mean….." he stopped short of touching me.

"It's okay," I assured, waving him off and wiping at my eyes, "This isn't easy for either of us."

"I should go," he searched for his coat and I immediately sobered, groping for any excuse to make him stay. The struggle between self-preservation and nostalgia, between what I should do and what my heart wanted, felt like it was boring a hole in the pit of my stomach.

"Stay," it came out as desperate because desperation was the only emotion I could fully feel. My tone caused him to turn in my direction, shock painting his perfect features. Tears shone in my eyes and I felt the need to explain my outburst, not wanting him to think that I was interested in continuing what we had started earlier. I didn't want that, we weren't those people anymore. _But there wasn't a part of me that he didn't know by heart._

"It's late, you've been drinking," I explained, finding my composure obscured somewhere among the rubble of our demolished emotions. "You don't have a shirt. The guest bedroom still has a bed. I can find sheets. Or you can sleep in our," I bit the inside of my cheek at my erroneous use of "our", after all, nothing was "ours" anymore. "You can sleep in the master."

"The guest room is fine." I was surprised that he agreed without an argument, deciding that it was probably due to a desire to put me out of my misery and end the stuttering and self-consciousness.

Fitz still looked completely calm as he walked to refill his glass, returning with a nearly full bottle of wine. I was apparently working on a second bottle at that point. His smile was disarming, I felt myself being drawn back in and I forced myself to look away. He pretended not to notice, refilling my glass and walking toward the huge windows overlooking the backyard.

"It's snowing," he observed, "It seems early for snow." He swallowed a mouthful of scotch, looking into his glass then refocusing out the window. I watched the muscles of his back move when he lifted the glass to his lips. He looked like he had lost some weight but his muscles were more defined and I pondered whether he'd been working out more. Maybe whoever he was dating liked him a little more muscle-bound. Bile burnt the back of my throat at the thought of another woman touching him.

"It seems we always get some fall flurries." The weather was a safe topic. "No accumulation usually. Never enough to ski."

He spun to face me, "You still ski?" he looked shocked.

"I stopped for a while, swimming too," I explained, "But I missed them too much." I picked up my wine glass, taking some liquid courage to steady myself for the admission I was about to make, "I missed you too much."

The statement hung between us. I watched him consider my words and tried to read his eyes.

"Skiing was something silly that made me feel close to Karen….and Teddy….and you," I finished in a near whisper.

I wasn't sure what to expect, a laugh, a kiss, anger, but Fitz took pity on me, allowing his eyes to turn back to the darkness beyond the windows.

"I kept up swimming," he said into his glass before draining it, "Every morning…..I swim until I don't feel anymore."

"Feel what?" I approached him from behind but didn't touch him.

"Until I don't feel anything," he quickly swiped at his eyes, "Then I can be the President."

He sniffled once, hiding his face from my view. It wasn't easy for either of us to admit we were in pain but I wasn't sure I would ever have the chance again and I never wanted him to wonder because I knew what wondering felt like. It was two years of being unable to open a closet or a drawer because of what might be inside, being unable to take a deep breath, two years of an ache in your soul that at times was the only sign you were still alive, it was torture and fear and despair.

"It's late, I'll go find those sheets for you," I was back to only shallow breaths and I rushed up the stairs in case tears began to fall again.

I found a set of sheets and walked into the guest room closest to the master. It had originally been Teddy's room, when Teddy needed a room in Vermont. Most of the furniture was gone but the walls were still painted navy with a repeat of narrow red and white stripes just below the ceiling. I stood admiring and reminiscing after I'd finished making the bed.

"Remember how long it took me to paint this room?" he was standing close behind me, I could feel the heat radiating from his still bare chest.

"I begged you to hire someone," I smiled, still looking at the walls, "but you insisted."

"I wanted to be the one to paint Teddy's room." He puffed out his chest, so proud of this accomplishment. The man who had brought countries together and argued legislation was most pleased by his ability to paint his son's bedroom walls. That was why I loved him. _Loved, past tense._

"You're a good dad, Fitz," I rested my palm on his chest and met his eyes tentatively. I knew that he was tortured by the idea that he could have saved Gerry but he was a good father, the best he knew how to be.

"He should still be here," he choked, his tears overflowing, "He would be here if I hadn't….if I didn't…"

"He would still be here if you had never met me," my own tears came then. I took a measure of blame for Fitz losing his son, just one of the reasons I walked away two years before.

"I should have been able to save him, he should be here and Teddy and Karen should be here," his fingers dug into my triceps as he gripped my upper arms, "Tom stole my entire world. He took my son, part of me died with Gerry. He took that piece of me away from Karen and Teddy, and this country," he pulled me into his chest, crushing me against him, his tears dampening my forehead, "and he took you." That last part was a mere whisper.

"No," was all I could manage and I moved my palms to his cheeks, wiping away the tears as best I could, holding his face to look into mine.

"He stole our happiness," he had stopped crying and his hands relaxed. He was now speaking just above a hush, "He took the most important person in my life from me."

"We all loved Gerry," I soothed, his pain as raw and fresh as the day he first got the news.

"Not Gerry," Fitz said, his hands rough in my hair, "You, Olivia, he took you."

I gasped, stunned by the confession. He sighed, exasperated, and licked his lips before hauling me against him again and joining our mouths.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A huge thank you to all who have continued to read and shared this story with others you thought might enjoy it. Your extremely kind reviews and messages keep me writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave a review or a message and let me know. **

All I could think as our tongues entwined was how much I wanted her. I had spent two years dreaming about this night, holding her, looking into her eyes when we found our mutual release. Half of me wanted one last night to prove to myself that there was nothing between us, the other half knew that I was addicted to Olivia Pope and once I got one taste of her I would never be able to let her go.

I forced myself to break our kiss, searching her eyes for a hint of uncertainty but found none. I wished I could be so self-assured. _Just like always Livvie throws herself in one hundred percent._

"Liv…." I pulled my fingers from her hair, lingering over her cheekbones and touching the bee stung lips I worshipped.

"I should let you get some sleep." She took a step away, looking around the room to be sure everything was in place.

"Why did you leave?" I hadn't intended to ask, afraid of what she would say, but I couldn't live the rest of my days wondering as I had for the past two years.

Olivia stiffened but didn't look at me. She walked to the window, placing her palm flat against the cool pane. The view from the window was the faint outline of the orchards in the moonlit night and the pond just beyond. I couldn't count the number of times we had walked through those trees, picking fruit, stealing away for a private picnic in one of the few places we could feel alone, and the night she convinced me to go skinny dipping in the chilly water.

"Does it matter?" I couldn't tell what she was looking at but her tense shoulders let me know her thoughts weren't pleasant.

I contemplated letting the subject drop. It was clear she wasn't comfortable talking about the end of our relationship. Then nothing about our relationship had ever been easy. I approached her slowly, coming within arms length of her before responding, "It matters."

"It was that morning…" she walked to the bed, running her hand along the edge of the quilt, fingers reminiscing, "The morning after you proposed."

My eyes followed her but I stood rooted in place.

"I woke up and it was barely light. I watched you sleep and stared at your ring on my finger," she whispered, her gaze falling to her bare left hand before rising to meet mine, "I let myself be happy."

"I was happy too Livvie," I returned in an equal whisper, stepping closer to her.

"I let myself believe that we would be together…forever. That we would get married, raise our children here, grow old together in this house."

"That was what I wanted too," I still didn't understand why she had run.

"Then your phone rang and nothing has been the same since," she lamented, "Gerry was gone. You were broken, your family was broken and I thought my mother had done that to you."

"But you still left, even when you found out it wasn't your mother. You didn't come back." my heart ached at the memory of watching her pull her small suitcase across the hardwood that had taken me weeks to select and through the reclaimed door I had purchased from a Virginia restoration company.

She sighed, her face falling into her hands, "You would have always blamed me. How would you have looked at me and not thought about Gerry? You lost your son and it never would have happened if we could have stayed away from each other."

In the two years since she left I spent countless hours trying to figure out why she had left but it never crossed my mind that she blamed herself for Gerry's death, and worse, she thought I did too.

I knelt before her, pulling her hands from her face and holding them in mine, "Olivia, no."

She slid her hands away and moved past me, walking quickly towards the door. Still on one knee I watched as she ran away from me yet again. I knew this view by heart, her stiff shoulders when she reached for the door knob, the way she always paused as if she was considering staying, and how she always decided it was in her best interest to go. How many more times could I let her rip my heart from my chest? The truth was I would let her do it a million times over. She was the love of my life and she was worth it, we were worth it.

"I never stopped loving you, you know." My statement caused her to pause a beat longer at the door, and her hand to visibly shake against the doorjamb. I stood and felt my voice grow stronger, "I never could. As much as I wanted to Olivia. I could never stop loving you and I never will."

"I can't do this again," she whispered into the wood of the door, "Good night Fitz. I'm sorry, about everything that happened today."

And again, she walked out, the air and light in the room seemed to follow her into the hall before she closed the door. My chest felt tight and the ache of the past two years surged to the surface. She had closed the door on more than just the room in which I stood. It no longer mattered what I did or what I said to her, didn't matter how much I loved her, didn't matter that I would never give up on us, she already had. Selling the house, the home that I had built for us, was her way of cutting all ties with me, permanently.

I resigned myself to the fact that what was left between us was little more than physical attraction. I sighed as I stripped down to my boxer briefs and pulled back the covers of the queen size bed. The room felt chilly, I missed the warmth from the fire downstairs and I nestled deep under the blankets, wondering if I would find an additional comforter in the closet.

I had become accustomed to sleeping by myself and I hoped that I would drift off quickly in spite of the thoughts whirling in my head. I considered whether I'd scared Olivia away by confessing that I was still in love with her, wondered whether she had truly moved on, and if she would ever forgive herself for what she thought was her part in Gerry's death. Then my thoughts turned to her eyes penetrating mine, her hands on me, how she felt beneath my touch, how much I longed to feel her beneath me again, to hear her moaning my name.

I rolled to my side, burying my head in the pillow, finally falling into a deep slumber. I awoke several hours later when a deep chill surrounded me and I blindly groped for the blanket and pulled it up to cover my bare shoulders. I took a deep breath, settling back into sleep, still thinking of Livvie and the things we would never have.

I drifted back into dreams, the deep recesses of my imagination where everything could be right again. I dreamed of what it would feel like to hold Olivia again, to have her next to me all night and wake up to her in the morning. The way her hair smelled and the glide of her skin beneath my hands, her lips tender yet needy against mine.

I could practically feel her slide into bed beside me, her chest press against the muscles of my back, and her hand move to the muscles of my abdomen stopping just above the waistband of my underwear. I could smell her hair and feel her breath on my neck, and hear her whisper my name, her lips tempting the edge of my earlobe.

"Fitz," she murmured and I felt her fingers slide beneath my boxers. I was rock hard, the sensations of my dreams so vivid. When her hand slipped around my length my breathing increased and I was sure I would soon awaken. I was frozen, needing the dream to continue, afraid that the wrong move would break the enchantment of my fantasy. She moved her hand faster along my erection and her breath grew hotter against my neck and shoulder.

"Fitz," I heard her say again, this time louder and needier. My head swam and I urged myself towards consciousness, frightened by the intensity of my dream. I reached for her, surprised that moving didn't cause me to awaken. Instead I felt warm flesh beneath my hand and I turned towards the small figure, bewildered, "Livvie?"

"Fitz," this time I was sure I wasn't asleep. _Was I? _

"Livvie?" my voice was hoarse and I still wasn't sure exactly what was happening. Before I could gain any further clarity her lips touched mine, lightly at first, her lips angling against mine in a ghosted caress. When her tongue ran from one corner of my mouth to the other I thrust my hands into her hair, rolling her beneath me, deciding that dream or not I was going to have her.

"Go slow," she breathed against my neck, "I haven't in a while."

Her words warmed me, though I wasn't sure I'd be able to take it slow once I was inside her. The chill of the room disappeared, my skin searing at every point it touched hers. I pulled back from the nibbling, playful kiss and she whimpered in response. I needed distance, to clear my head, I wanted to be fully conscious when I made love to Olivia. As I leaned back on my heels, straddling her right thigh, I watched her breasts rise and fall with each breath. The thin beige satin of her nightie did little to conceal what I knew lay beneath. The lace rode high on her thigh and her breasts amply filled the bodice. I licked my bottom lip, recalling the first night I had slipped this very same satin from her body. In all of my fifty-two years Olivia was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen up close. Not once did I take for granted our time together. I could remember every conversation, every touch, every moan of my name.

She ran her perfectly manicured nails along my sternum, coaxing me back to her. I repositioned myself to kneel between her thighs, running my palms from the outside of her knees to the arch of her hips. She shuddered slightly beneath my hands and goosebumps rose in the wake of my touch. I wanted to tell her again how much I loved her, that my feelings for her would never change, that every challenge of us being together paled in comparison to the pain of being away from her, but I was afraid to scare her away. My palms flattened over her stomach and over her satin covered breasts as I prepared to worship at the altar of Olivia Pope.

Her breathing increased, her nipples perking against my hands, back arching off the bed in a desperate attempt to increase our contact. I slid my hands to her hips again, carefully pulling the damp satin thong down her thighs.

"So wet for me," my voice was rough with need.

"Always," she whispered, the flirty smile faltering slightly.

My erection strained against the cotton of my boxers and I couldn't suppress a groan when she gripped me through the fabric. I bent to join our mouths again, partially out of need but mostly because I didn't have the words to make her understand. Our tongues lashed against one another, my hands stealing beneath her nightie to cup her bare breasts, my mouth capturing her moans.

Her hands gripped my hair, betraying her approval of my actions, her chest arching against mine. I adored her body, the taste of her neck and the lilt of her silken leg along my side. I gripped the back of her knee, opening her up to me, appreciating the way she submitted to my touch. My mouth watered at the prospect of tasting her but wanted to savor her as if she were my last meal.

I settled my mouth over her right breast, licking, sucking, and biting through the fabric, leaving her shivering beneath the damp satin left behind when I moved to the other.

"Please…" she urged, again arching into me.

I stopped, turning my attention to her face, "What do you want Livvie?"

"I need you…."

"Mmmm," I growled lifting the nightie to expose her abdomen, finally pulling it over her head and tossing it to the floor.

"Please," she begged again, her eyes falling closed.

I ran a single finger through her damp folds, pausing at her opening to urge just the tip into her.

"Fuck…" she moaned into the moonlit room causing me to refocus on her swollen clit, first circling with my fingers then covering her with my mouth. Her body hummed with arousal beneath my hands and mouth. I took my time as she rolled her hips against my face, trying to take her orgasm before I was ready. With one last long, slow suck my mouth separated from her with a pop.

"Fitz!" she moaned.

"You're delicious," I licked my lips and fingers, "Like peaches and honey." I moved to taste her neck again, sampling her ear then pausing to look at her again, "Like the jam I used to lick off of you."

"I want a taste," she breathed, drunk on the emotions that coursed between us.

"Mmm…" I touched my lips to hers but she quickly deepened our embrace, plunging her tongue deep into my mouth, controlling, demanding.

Deciding I couldn't last much longer, I fisted my aching length, pushing just the tip against her entrance.

"Easy…" she whispered, her eyes wide as I slid slowly into her.

"You're so tight Livvie," I stilled, reminded of just how long it had been since I'd been with a woman.

Olivia noticed my discomfort and smirked up at me, "Getting old Mr. President?"

"More like out of practice," I returned, pulling out an inch then plunging into her again.

I rolled my hips against her, moving in and out at a lazy pace, sure to press against her bundle of nerves with each stroke, the sensation of her engulfing me better than I had remembered. It had been far too long since I'd felt this free. I had tried to bury my feelings for Olivia in a meaningless affair but I was always left feeling empty. No one compared to my Livvie.

"Faster," her nails streaked down the flexing muscles of my back.

I grinned against her lips, knowing I had the upper hand, "We're going to go all night."

"Fitz, please," her hands returned to my hair and she tugged sharply, "I need you to make me come."

For the first time since the day she left I felt like FItzgerald Grant again, I felt powerful and virile. I circled my hips, knowing exactly how she liked it, her quivering legs telling me I had found her spot.

"Don't stop…..fuck me Fitz," she threw her head back and my mouth fell to the long column of her neck, biting and sucking as I pounded harder into her.

"Do I need to pull out?" I whispered, suddenly aware that I had no idea if she was on birth control.

"I want you to come inside me," she met my eyes when she said it and I nearly came just looking at her, "I missed you. I want all of you," she murmured as I stroked in and out of her anew.

"Livvie," I grasped the back of her hair, again exposing her neck to my plundering mouth.

"Fitz….I'm…...you're going to make me…" she sunk her teeth into my bicep, suppressing a scream as she writhed beneath me, her nails digging into my sides. I didn't stop, thrusting through her orgasm until I felt my release crashing over me.

"Fuck…..Liv…" I grunted dumping my seed into her.

"I love you," she panted against the damp hair at my temple, "I never stopped. I always will."

I didn't answer, having no idea what to say. I loved her more than I had ever loved anyone but one night of amazing lovemaking could not fix the problems between us. The deep emotional wounds we bore could not be healed like this. But it was a start.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I hope this update finds everyone well. I thank you again for your kind comments and reviews. I am humbled by the PMs that I have received. I never thought so many people would be interested in reading this story so I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Happy reading!**

I had allowed myself to forget the way my body immediately responded to Fitz. A single touch was all I needed to be reduced to a panting, pleading mess. I'm not sure what made me go to him, to climb into bed next to him, but I told myself it was about needing someone close, the physical contact.

I slid beneath the sheets and ventured to touch him. His declaration of love from earlier in the evening echoed in my head, playing on a loop. I had longed to hear those words from him, but they scared the hell out of me. I loved him, God knows I loved him more than I'd ever thought possible, but there was a seemingly insurmountable expanse of issues between us. I had walked away without an explanation, I had tried to move on, so had he, we both buried ourselves in work and unhealthy vices. But I had always viewed my most unhealthy vice to be Fitz.

Laying in my bed alone that night my body was painfully aware of Fitz's proximity, the flush of my skin at the thought of his touch, the ache in my core that longed to be quelled. So with little thought I'd allowed my body to seek out his and it was not disappointed. Fitz remembered everything I liked, all of the things that sent me spiraling higher and higher before he thrust me over the edge. He was gentle and slow when I needed and hard and rough when I wanted. He took care of me in a way that only he ever could.

Fitz rolled to his side, his fingers tracing circles on my sweat dampened abdomen. He always looked so handsome after we made love, flushed face, mussed hair, eyes still dark with lust. I nuzzled just a little closer to him, touching a finger to the curl that fell across his forehead. His chiseled jaw softened with the touch of my hand and I leaned in to kiss his temple.

"I love you," I let myself put words to what I felt for him, "I never stopped. I always will."

He didn't say anything in return, instead pressing his lips to mine. As gorgeous as Fitz looked after sex he tasted even better, a mix of scotch and mint and me. A feeling of utter contentment settled over me when he pulled back and allowed his eyes to speak to mine.

"Be right back," he grinned kissing me quickly and climbing from beneath the covers. His movements were so fluid and relaxed, rippling muscles and his half-hard cock on full display. Fitzgerald Grant was the definition of virility and masculinity and my mouth watered at the sight of him.

I rolled to face him, propping myself on my elbow, "Come here," I breathed. I didn't want to think about what would happen when the sun rose or after Fitz went back to D.C., I just wanted to savor him and enjoy getting lost in our pleasure.

"I'm just grabbing a washcloth for you," he explained now fully facing me. I couldn't drag my attention away from his length, glistening with a mixture of our juices.

"Come back to bed," it was no longer a request, I needed him. My eyes darted to his as he approached, his swagger and the heat in his stare told me he knew what I had planned.

"You don't want to clean up?" his voice had gone husky and the rasp sent pulses straight to my core.

He reached the edge of the bed, pausing to give me one more eyeful before he eased onto the mattress again. Sheets and blankets were strewn haphazardly around the bed and onto the floor but I managed to coax a sheet up to cover his hips before disappearing below.

"Olivia…." He growled through gritted teeth lifting his hips to meet my questing mouth. I pressed his hips into the bed with all the strength of my slight frame, controlling him.

My lips circled just the tip of him and I felt his thighs flex, heels pressing into the sheets. I couldn't describe the thrill at hearing him say we would go all night. In the early days of our relationship we had minutes and hours, it wasn't until he had divorced Mellie that I felt I could ask for entire nights but still we were frequently interrupted when the needs of the country beckoned. An entire night with Fitz, kissing, touching, bringing each other to the heights of pleasure until neither had anything left to give, that was what I needed. One final bender before I quit Fitz cold turkey.

"Take it all Livvie," he groaned as I urged him deeper into my mouth. He lifted the sheet, moving my hair from my face to watch my enjoyment in pleasuring him.

His words rushed over me, the delight of hearing the last of his restraint crumble hastened my pace. I focused on the feel of him, every vein gliding through my mouth, the drips that trickled onto my tongue, salty and warm, the tip colliding with the back of my throat, and his fingers knitted in my hair. The tips of his fingers pressed against my head, the sound of his breath now coming in short gasps, and I was right back in the cabin at Camp David where we spent a whirlwind weekend drafting the State of the Union address by day and sating our thirst for one another each night.

That weekend we took turns touching and tasting, he found the tiny spots that drove me wild, I reveled in my ability to bring the most powerful man in the world to his knees. We drank wine, laughed over rich meals prepared by his private chef, and lay together discussing our difficult childhoods and future aspirations.

I was brought back from my memory when his fingers tightened in my hair. My cheeks hollowed around him and I ventured a peek at his face. His expression, his turbulent gaze, his mouth agape, my name intermingled with expletives tumbling from his lips, a mere susurration. I grinned around him and returned my focus to his mounting pleasure, gripping his thighs and increasing my pace until there was a momentary tensing followed by slackening of every muscle in his body and a wash of warm against my tongue.

"Olivia," his voice was deep, velvety soft and I shivered slightly from the emotion I sensed in his tone.

I felt suddenly awkward, pulling the sheet around me and gingerly sliding next to him. It was so simple to be with him when I didn't need to think, when the worries didn't seep into my consciousness, when I could remember how we had been once upon a time. Now there was so much between us and I wasn't sure I'd have the strength to walk away from him again.

"What's the matter?" the question broke through my thoughts and I let my eyes fall closed as his fingers lightly traced my cheek.

"Nothing," I lied with my best fake smile, "Was that okay? I mean, I don't know what came over me. It's just this night, and seeing you after all of this time…"

"Livvie, it's never been anything less than perfection with us," his expression was so warm, his eyes brimming with emotion.

"One thing we never did have problems with I guess," I agreed and lay my head on his shoulder.

He gathered me against him and placed a kiss on my forehead, "We can figure things out tomorrow."

Tomorrow…tomorrow…tomorrow, the word drifted through my head, lulling me into a semi-restful slumber. I dreamt that night for the first time in weeks.

When the sun just barely shown above our orchards I slipped away from him, doing my best not to disturb his sleep. I showered and dressed for the day, my fingers lingering over the faint red marks he'd left on my skin. The little marks he left had always been secret reminders of our fleeting time together. Now here we were, all the time in the world, yet unable to put the past behind us. I kept imaging us together in our Vermont house, happy, thankful for our second chance and the opportunity to rediscover one another. Then I chided myself for allowing my feelings about one ill-conceived night with Fitz to cloud my decision about selling the house and putting him behind me. I just needed to make it through breakfast.

I couldn't resist the urge to take in the sight of his sleeping form when I walked past the guest room. The sheet barely covered the lower half of his body, his arm was draped over the pillow I'd slept on, the curve of his muscular ass and powerful thigh on display. I stood in the doorway staring, partially in disbelief that the sexiest man I'd ever seen was again naked in my bed, but the other part of me knew that this was likely the last time I'd ever see him like this and I wanted to memorize everything about it. The curl that fell over his forehead, the lace of every muscle, the way each taut muscle flexed and rippled when he shifted positions. I licked my lips, remembering the taste of his salty flesh, grinning as I pulled the door closed and proceeded to the kitchen.

The fire was out and a draft seemed to blanket the living room and kitchen. I gathered my wool sweater tighter around me and threw some new logs into the fireplace. Scattering the fatwood, I struck the long match and watched the orange glow set the kindling alight. I rested for a moment on the hearth, feeling the warmth as I watched the flames dance. I again thought about the night Fitz proposed to me. The way we made love that night was unlike any time previous or since. Well, until… _Until last night _I thought. From the second I lay my head on his chest to sleep I was bothered. Bothered by the way I felt, the connection between us, the words we had both spoken, the way I loved him in spite of all of my best efforts. But what if he hurt me again or I hurt him? Our relationship had already cost him his son, I wouldn't survive knowing I had cost him anything else. I couldn't entertain the feelings that were reawakened for me the night before, I had to let him go again, this time for good.

After another moment's reflection, and still no sign of Fitz, I decided that a strong cup of coffee and breakfast might help me keep my mind off of all that had mired my mind since I woke up next to the man I once thought would share my bed forever. I pulled ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry and set to work.

"Mmm….smells delicious," I felt Fitz's arms strong around my waist, the swell of his muscular chest flush against my back, and his breath along the side of my neck.

"Veggie omelet and turkey bacon," I fought the urge to press back against him.

"I wasn't talking about breakfast," he nipped at my ear and the column of my neck, "though it does smell quite good."

I did my best to focus on the food cooking in front of me and ignore the heat that emanated from every inch of the man pressed against me. I turned the omelet, sprinkled another bit of cheese, and moved the bacon to a plate. His fingers dug into the arch of my hip, the swell in his pants pressed against my lower back, every bit of flesh that he touched or kissed or breathed upon implored him not to stop.

"We should eat," I did my best to sound stern but my voice came out as strained and timid.

"Mmm…." He pulled me tighter against him, my body involuntarily responding to his touch. My every nerve hummed beneath his hands and his lips. I wanted to turn into him, bury myself in the safety of his chest, feel his mouth on mine. The house in Vermont had always been our refuge, and standing there in the kitchen I imagined it might be again. My mind warred with my heart and my body, the throb of my desire for him rapidly drowning out my head's attempts at self-preservation.

"Fitz," I whispered, resting my head back against his shoulder and turning to look into his eyes.

I couldn't stop my pulse racing or my breath running away from me. I was intensely aware of his grey blue stare, his hand moving to my neck, his lips moving closer to mine. My brain begged me to stop him while every other part of me pled for his touch. His fingers clutched my hair and all protestations were drowned by the rush of blood in my ears when he roughly brought our mouths together.

His tongue skimmed my lips before surreptitiously slipping inside. I tried to stifle the moan his touch provoked but he knew his fingers in my hair and hand curled around my throat drove me to the brink of madness.

"Let's forget breakfast," he reached his free hand around to extinguish the burner beneath the sizzling omelet, "Let me take you back to bed. Show you why last night will never be enough for either one of us."

I groped for the words or actions to stop what was happening. I let him pull me towards the living room, I watched my hands slide down to the button on his pants, and I felt his breathing increase to a pant equal my own. All of the times I had drawn a line in the sand with Fitz flashed before my eyes, the times when I had decided that being the President's mistress was too much or that all we both risked was not worth the fleeting moments we shared. But each time I let myself get caught up again, drawn into the whirlwind of Fitzgerald Grant and the life I was hopeful awaited us.

"We should eat," I repeated the only words that seemed to form anything close to a coherent thought. _I want you, I need you. _The words danced on the tip of my tongue, threatening to punctuate the sound of the crackling fire and our voracious gasps.

"I can't stop Livvie," he sounded uncompromising, "No, I don't want to. I never want to stop kissing you, loving you, cherishing you."

He loosened his hold on me, waiting for my response. I looked down at the chipped red polish on my fingernails, weighing my options, well aware of the smart decision. I met his gaze, steeled myself to explain why a repeat of the night before was a terrible idea.

"Fitz, I…I…" he stood before me so relaxed, so sure of himself, sure of us, "I don't think…"

My mind went blank when I saw him lick his lips. I took a confident step in his direction, my hands grasping either side of his face, and I kissed him, more earnestly than I'd ever kissed anyone. I didn't care about breakfast or what would happen when we both returned to our regular lives or how much it would hurt when we parted again. We collapsed to the floor, tearing at each other's clothes. This wasn't gentle and caring, we weren't taking care of one another. This was ripped clothes, angry red scratches along his back, love bites across my collarbone, rug burn, and scattered buttons. It was whispered dirty talk between begging and moaning and the crash of a vase, toppled from the sofa table when we collided with it.

"That was my favorite," he murmured, glancing briefly at the colorful remains.

"We'll buy a new one," I didn't let him break my concentration as I moved to straddle his hips.

He didn't speak, just smiled his crooked cocky grin and kissed me, a kiss deep enough to take my breath and my head swam. And just like that we were hurtling back in time to a rainy fall day two years earlier, another day of feeling instead of thinking and pleasure before apprehension.

"I can't let you go Livvie. This doesn't end here," and just like that day he wasn't going to make things easy for me.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: A thousand thanks to the handful of you who left reviews. I love hearing what you like and dislike about this story. To those of you who sent lovely glowing PMs, thank you doesn't seem quite sufficient. I'm hoping this chapter meets your expectations. Please feel free to leave your feedback. Happy reading!**

I remembered the day Olivia and I came across a quaint little farmer's market during one of our trips into town. We didn't venture out together often, concern over being seen by the wrong person and the always fleeting nature of our time together keeping us close to home. But it only seemed appropriate that we would visit with the local artisans that day, our attempt to meet some townspeople and begin to make Vermont our home.

We strolled from shop to shop picking out hand dyed linens, a light fixture for the kitchen made from glass blown as we watched, and several pieces of furniture she simply fell in love with. We were tired and looking for somewhere to stop for a bite to eat when we spotted the farmer's market. She nearly squealed with delight when she saw the bins of fresh vegetables and table after table of handmade goods. And of course I could deny her nothing even if my stomach grumbled in protest.

By the time we finished, Olivia had chosen a hand knit throw that we would end up snuggled beneath on more than one occasion, fresh cheeses, homemade soap, we sampled several craft beers, a highlight in my day to be sure, and together we'd selected a vase made from hand thrown pottery. The vase was the richest earth tones, the oranges were reminiscent of the sunsets we watched over the mountains, the perfect shade of chestnut brown with a hint of warm gold that reminded me of her eyes dancing in the firelight, and the tiniest bit of deep red, warm and passionate like the woman I planned to spend the rest of my life loving. The vase sat on our sofa table, a reminder of that carefree day, and had come to be one of the things that made our Vermont house a home.

Now seeing our vase in thirty pieces, broken beyond repair, I felt forlorn. When it broke she quickly said we would buy another though I gathered that was more to keep me focused on our romp on the floor than anything else. She always was singularly minded, not that I would ever complain when that mind was focused on the toe curling things she did to me.

I kissed her temple as I looked at the pieces of our vase strewn across the floor. Her nails dragged along my chest, each touch sending wisps of desire straight to the depths of me. Just her proximity was enough to leave me nearly begging for her. Though I would never admit it to anyone but her, she was my greatest weakness, the only woman who could so easily bring me to my knees.

"I really did love that vase," I whispered into the hair at the crown of her head.

"Good memories," her reply came in an equal whisper.

"Did you mean it?" I wondered aloud, "That we can find a new one?"

She turned her doe eyes to focus on mine, concern blemishing her features, "I don't know if that's a good idea."

I tried to stifle the urge to roll my eyes and laugh. She was always building walls, throwing obstacles in our way. So many times any other man would have walked away but holding on, sticking around had earned me great rewards. When I could get past her defenses, when it was just the two of us, I was gifted with the warmth and affection of an amazing woman. Her perfect smile, the way she nibbled her lip when she was anxious, how she traced my face with her delicate finger when we lay naked beside one another. And in the end I was sure if I kept working I could have more moments with my carefree Livvie, more walks at dusk, more trips into town, more nights cooking together in our kitchen and huddling together in front of a raging fire.

"Maybe we should try for round two of breakfast?" I suggested, slipping from beneath the knit throw and pulling it tighter around her shoulders.

"Fitz…." She said in an almost apologetic voice.

"I meant actual food Livvie," I corrected with a peck to her lips, "I'll cook this time. Aren't you hungry?"

"Starved," she breathed with a blush, "I thought you meant…."

I pulled my jeans up over my hips and buttoned them as I moved into the kitchen, "I know what you thought but I'm not going to push. You're not ready, you might never be ready and that's okay."

It was impossible to look at her, I didn't know that I could stomach the tears I was sure brimmed in her eyes. But I swore to myself months before that I would tell her the truth, hold nothing back, if I was given the opportunity to hold her again and tell her how I felt. I loved her, in spite of myself, I loved her to distraction. She infuriated me, challenged me and tortured me, but I would always love her.

"So back to Washington this afternoon?" she wondered as she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

"That's the plan," there was no sense in making our current situation more awkward. She was clearly uncomfortable with any mention of things continuing beyond what had already happened between us.

"When will Teddy be home?" I could sense her uncertainty about how close was too close to stand. We never were good at pretending to be friends or keeping our distance from one another when we were in the same room.

"Next weekend," I turned the omelet in the pan then reached for two plates to begin serving our meal, "I think some quiet might do me good. Time to think. Cyrus will enjoy having my undivided attention."

She chuckled at the mention of my Chief of Staff, the memories of all we'd put Cyrus through in the early days of our relationship. So many nights we thought we had him fooled, the night before the pancake breakfast, state dinners, late night meetings in the oval office, and weekends holed up at Camp David. Cyrus never admitted he knew until the night she left me.

He found me crumpled in a heap on the Presidential Seal, drunk and miserable, begging the universe to bring her back to me. That night he vowed to help me find her, and confided in me that he knew the power of finding a soulmate. Cyrus also knew the pain of losing someone and the abyss that left behind. He never recovered from James' death, it would always be a weight he carried with him, and I pondered whether he'd ever move on. I would understand if he didn't, though I'd dated several other women, lovely each of them, none compared to the little spitfire that occasionally allowed me to exist in her orbit.

"It looks delicious," her smile was genuine and it warmed me through when her dainty hand found my triceps.

"I hope it tastes good," I cleared my throat, trying to think of anything besides how tight my jeans were in response to her touch.

I carried our plates to the table then poured us each a glass of juice. Pulling out her chair then helping her slide in closer to the table, I placed a kiss on her bare shoulder largely out of habit. Her skin was soft and warm beneath my lips, begging to be explored for hours.

She stilled at the contact of my mouth but quickly recovered to taste the eggs, "Mmm…." Her eyes fluttered closed, a sure sign she really did like the food.

"It was always a treat cooking for you," I replied, taking a bite of the omelet, "You get this look when you really enjoy something."

Her cheeks pinked and she kept her gaze trained on her plate. I was making her uncomfortable.

"I'm glad you like it," I tried to take all emotion out of my voice.

We finished our meal in virtual silence, exchanging the occasional awkward smile. I tried not to stare at her though I was never very good at keeping my eyes off of her for too long. She feigned intense interest in her meal and the view from the floor to ceiling windows, anything, I realized, to keep from looking at me.

"I'll clean up here and then I should be going," I carried our plates to the sink and set to work washing them.

"You don't need to do that," she walked up behind me and took the plate I held in my hand, "There's a dishwasher."

Her hand rested between my shoulder blades and I quickly tried to memorize the sensation. Soon I would head back to that looming house, rich with tradition but devoid of warmth, back to sleepless nights and endless thoughts of her. I hoped this time would be different, now that I knew she was safe and well, and I had taken the chance to profess my enduring love for her. I was also certain that the activities of the prior twenty-four hours would features heavily in any dreams I managed. Touching each other like old times, exchanging loving words, the marks we left behind. I shook my head to clear the thoughts, I couldn't keep focusing on how much I wanted her or loved her. I needed to go back to being the President, back to putting the country first, to finishing out my term on a positive note.

"I'll just gather my things and have Hal bring the car around," I picked up my cell phone from the coffee table and dialed Hal's number, requesting that he ready us to depart for Washington. I wandered up the stairs, taking a cursory glance into each room as I walked down the hallway. Pausing in the doorway to the master bedroom, memories of hours spent in that bed flooded my mind. As sad as I was to walk away from her and the house, I was sure one day I'd find my way back, and if not, the memories of what we shared would always be recalled fondly.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs with the few things I'd collected along the way she was standing by the fire, my wrinkled button down from the night before in her hand. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth when she saw me. I never wanted her to be upset but the conflicted look on her face let me know that she hadn't completely closed the door on our relationship.

"Your shirt," she held the garment out to me and as I took it I allowed my fingers to skim the back of her hand.

"Thanks," it wasn't in reference to the shirt. It was for the last 8 years, for the first day she challenged me on the campaign trail and the strength she gave me when my father died. It was a thank you for bringing her light into my life, for showing me love, and for all she did for my family and the country. But most of all it was thank you for the opportunity to spend the last twenty-four hours holding her and telling her what lived in my heart.

I shrugged my coat over my shoulders and fastened it in preparation for the chill outside. This time we would say our goodbyes, as hard as they would be, we would look one another in the eye and let go.

"Goodbye Livvie," I held her hips in my hands, "The last day has been….."

"Perfection," she choked, wiping at the tears that filled her eyes.

"I should go," I leaned in to kiss her forehead, walking away was getting harder with each second that ticked by.

"The ring," she whispered, her gaze hooded, "You should take it."

"I should," my voice cracked as I walked to the kitchen drawer to retrieve the diamond.

"Have a safe trip, Mr. President," her hands ran over the lapels of my coat, scorching my flesh even through layers of cotton and wool.

"We were something special weren't we Livvie?" I pulled her in for one last hug and a kiss to the top of her head, then walked out the door, a sea of emptiness surrounding me when the door clicked closed behind me.

I thanked Hal as I ducked into the backseat of the town car for the short trip to meet Marine One. Immediately I poured a glass of scotch, downing the entire serving in a single swallow. It hurt, burnt from the tip of my tongue to the pit of my stomach. I was in the midst of pouring a second tumbler full when the car abruptly stopped and the left rear door swung open.

"Be careful," she panted, kneeling on the seat beside me, "Just please take care of yourself."

Her eyes looked pleading but all I could manage was a nod to the affirmative in response. Before I could comprehend what she was doing her lips were touching mine and her warm salty tears fell against the corner of my mouth. I let her kiss me, let her tongue slide against mine, and her fingers grip the hair at the nape of my neck.

"I love you Fitz," she whispered against my ear.

Just as quickly as she appeared she slipped from the car and scurried back to the house. I watched her pause to look back before closing the door to the house and I smiled. I finished pouring my scotch, sipping slowly in hopes of extinguishing the flames of arousal that licked at my belly. Within minutes I had settled back against the seat and pulled the ring box from the pocket of my coat. I slowly cracked the lid and smiled at the diamond glistening back at me. It was Olivia's ring, would only ever be Olivia's ring, and she was right, I needed to take it.

I buried myself in the day's security briefing and before I realized it we were parked at the foot of the stairs of Marine One. Hal opened the door and I thanked him with a firm pat to the shoulder. Saluting the marines that manned my aircraft, I took the steps two at a time, finding solace in the familiar surroundings of the helicopter. The bounce in my step would tell anyone who knew me well where I had been and who I was with. I looked forward to telling Cyrus that I'd found Olivia, more than that, I found her safe and sound and I spent an entire day doing my best to remind her what we had shared.

"Do you need anything before we depart, Sir?" Hal asked from his post several feet from me.

I took another look at the sparkling ring perched in the box I held. There was only one thing I needed and no Secret Service agent would be bringing her to me.

"Thank you, Hal," I nestled back into the leather of the seat and swallowed another mouthful of scotch. I had survived yet another encounter with Olivia Pope, not unscathed but far from defeated.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This story just seems to be flowing from me at the moment so I'm going with it. Thank you for your wonderful reviews, they are so thoughtful and full of insight. I don't know how many people are actually reading this but I am glad that those of you who have chosen to comment & review seem to be enjoying it. I think this chapter will maybe answer some lingering questions about Olivia. I know the road these two are taking is bumpy and often painful but I promise that if you stick with me I will try to make it worth your while in the end. Thank you again for all of your kindness. Happy reading!**

As soon as the door closed the desolation overwhelmed me. My hands shook and it felt as though a hundred pound weight sat upon my chest. I couldn't catch my breath and my vision was clouded by tears. I made my way to the kitchen and found my cell phone on the counter, unlocking it and scrolling through my contacts until I came to Abby's name. _We were something special weren't we Livvie? _I swiped at the tears that streamed down my cheeks and prayed that Abby picked up.

"Hey Liv," she sounded cheerful but the sound of my sniffling changed her tone, "What's wrong?"

"He was here," my voice was barely audible.

"Who was…..Fitz? Fitz showed up in Vermont?" I could hear the sympathy, "Are you alright? What happened?"

"He came and he told me he missed me and he still loves me and…." My voice trailed off as I disappeared into my recollection of the last 24 hours.

"You didn't….." Abby sounded horrified, "Oh Liv, you did didn't you?"

"I don't know how it happened. I've missed him, I miss him every day, and he was so handsome and confident. He was the Fitz I remembered, the Fitz I fell in love with," I tried to explain.

"I'm coming. I'm packing right now and I'll be on a plane."

"Abby, you can't leave your job. You can't just pick up and come to Vermont," I didn't need her jeopardizing her job as White House Press Secretary and I didn't need Fitz knowing I was a mess.

"I have deputies, the White House can live without me for a few days," Abby wasn't taking no for an answer and I really could use the company, "Stay there, drink a glass of wine, don't do anything, just wait for me."

She ended the call and the emptiness enveloped me again. I ambled to the cabinet and retrieved a glass, nearly filling it with wine from the bottle that sat atop the counter. I turned, leaning back against the counter as I surveyed the open space that was the large kitchen and living room. I drank deeply from the glass, hoping the alcohol would numb the prickling awareness that blanketed my body. I found the dustpan and broom and cleaned up the remnants of the vase we'd broken. _Let me take you back to bed. _I dumped the shattered fragments into the trashcan. _Show you why last night will never be enough for either one of us. _

My hands started to shake again and I forced my attention to folding the throw that belonged on the back of the couch. I glanced down at the Movado watch that had been a gift from Fitz when he'd won the election, it would still be some time before Abby arrived. _It's never been anything less than perfection with us. _

Everything I saw, the smells of the house, his voice in my mind carried the ghost of Fitz. I could still feel his hands on my skin, I could smell the woody masculine scent of him fill my nostrils, and hear the low rumbling of his baritone saying my name. I already knew there was no escaping him, even selling the house wouldn't rid me of my memories, and I would go back to Washington eventually and eventually I would see him. We shared too many common acquaintances, too many mutual haunts, it was inevitable. I hoped crossing paths with him would ultimately be less painful.

I picked up the book about Fitz that I'd begun reading the day before and settled into the couch to wait for Abby. Maybe I was masochistic but I wanted to get lost in stories of a young Fitzgerald Grant. The stress of the day's events and lack of sleep the night before combined to cause my eyelids to grow heavy and I didn't get very far in the book before I drifted off to sleep.

_Fitz was dressed in a summer suit, me in a gauzy sundress. We were in our orchard surrounded by people, not many, but all of those closest to us. _It was our wedding I realized. _We shared a kiss and everyone cheered and he hurried me down the aisle, we were happy. But the dream changed, there were headlines that said terrible things, things about me and about us. They called me names and they blamed me for costing Fitz his son. I was searching for Fitz, couldn't find him in the sea of people, all of the people who had hurt us, and he couldn't protect me, couldn't save me and I was drowning._

I awakened, drenched in a cold sweat, the room mostly dark and the fire burning low. I looked around, wondering how much of what I was experiencing was a dream. Had Fitz really been at the house? Did he really still love me? Would I ever stop being afraid?

A sharp knock on the door saved me from any thorough consideration of the concerns I had and I straightened my clothes before proceeding to let Abby in.

"You look awful," she confirmed what I already knew, "I brought wine. I figured you had some but you can never have too much. And popcorn, I brought all your favorites from Popcorn Obsession."

She pushed past me and dropped the bags on the counter before returning to the porch to retrieve her small wheeled suitcase. She found a bowl and emptied my favorite bacon cheddar popcorn into it then poured each of us a generous glass of red wine. I followed her to the living room and plopped down beside her on the couch, pulling the throw around me, not for warmth but for the security and the faint scent of Fitz that still lingered on it.

She looked at me over the rim of her glass, "Spill."

"There's nothing to tell. He came here and I let things get out of hand."

"I know I don't talk about it and I promised myself I'd stay out of it when I took the job at the White House, but he misses you," she put a handful of popcorn in her mouth, "He's not the same without you. He's good, focused, but he's not great."

"Whose side are you on?" I took a long drink of wine before sampling some popcorn.

"I'm on your side Liv," she sounded defensive, "and that's why I didn't tell you this before. I thought I was protecting you but if you still love him and it hurts this bad to let him go then it's my job as your friend to tell you when you're being stupid."

"It hurts to be with him too," I admitted, "It scares me to death. I'm afraid to be happy with Fitz because we never get to be happy long."

She pulled me into a hug and I could feel how badly I was shaking as she held me against her. I struggled to admit how I felt to anyone. Abby was my best friend and probably knew more about my relationship with Fitz than anyone else. I was raised in a home where fear was weakness and crying was forbidden, feelings were frowned upon. Quite a stark contrast to the way I felt when I was with Fitz. He made me feel like holding hands in public and walking arm in arm down the street, forgetting about work and responsibilities and holing up in our bed for days on end, and smiling, being happy, making a life together. But those things, letting down your guard, were how your enemies attacked you and the last time I'd allowed my defenses to completely disappear with Fitz it had cost him his eldest child.

"Do you know how amazing you are when you're with Fitz?" her question shocked me, "You're sharp and precise and focused. Confidence radiates from you, you're the formidable Olivia Pope people have come to depend upon and fear."

I took another drink of wine, considering her words. Was there really a difference in me when I was with Fitz? Could people tell? Was I more effective when I was happy?

Almost as if she read my mind, Abby continued, "Look, it's not going to be easy no matter what you decide but wouldn't you rather it not be easy while you're distracting yourself with the country's most eligible bachelor?"

She always knew how to make me smile, "He is pretty distracting," I laughed.

"And I mean, I hang out with the guy a lot," she continued with her signature smirk, "He's not happy without you. Spends all of his free time running and working out. And believe me when I say that I am a jealous woman when I catch a glimpse of him all sweaty in those t-shirts that are two sizes too small."

"Stop it," I giggled imagining sweat glistening off every muscle of Fitz's chest.

"I'll put it to you like this," she began before taking a large swallow of wine, "If you're not going to get down with him I'm throwing my hat in the ring."

"No," the smile and all sign of humor evaporated from my voice.

"And there's your answer," she concluded, "Now stop worrying. Call him, start over, go on a date."

I imagined Abby flirting with Fitz, she had always been the more outgoing of the two of us, and nausea rose in my stomach as I wondered if he would entertain her advances. Though I had told him I still loved him I had let him go. I pushed him away again and again, I sent mixed signals, I ran away and wondered why he stopped chasing me, I wondered why he didn't fight harder for us, but when was the last time I fought for us?

We munched on popcorn and sipped our wine in silence. I was so used to being afraid and running away, I wondered if I'd ever be able to find the strength to stand beside Fitz. He deserved a partner and an equal, someone who would take care of him and support him. I laughed at the thought that fear was such a taboo in my parents' house and now I found myself unable to elude its icy grip.

"I brought clothes to spend the night," Abby broke the silence that loomed between us.

"No, you can go. Fitz needs you and I'm sure Cyrus is torturing whichever poor deputy is handling things in your stead," I felt better already after sharing my true feelings and fears. No one understood quite like Abby, she was one of my closest friends, she knew all the deep dark shadows that haunted me.

"Only if you're sure," she hugged me again, "You come first. I need to know that you're okay."

I wasn't okay by any stretch of the imagination but I was better. Putting words to my fears and hearing Abby talk about Fitz struggling without me was strangely comforting. I didn't want him to hurt but his confident façade and assured movements had been off-putting. I felt like I didn't deserve him because I wasn't sure. He knew without a doubt that he loved me and wanted to be with me and he put words to those feelings, and I couldn't. My love for him seemed somewhat less because I couldn't let go and jump in with both feet. If he had told me he was afraid or showed any sign of fear I might have suggested we start over. But instead his words floated through my mind. _You're not ready, you might never be ready. And that's okay. _

"Go home Abby," I smiled and walked with my glass to the sink, "Thank you for coming to my rescue."

"Only if you promise to think about what I said. Give him a chance. Take things slow." She placed her glass next to mine in the sink made of hand-rolled copper, "I think you both deserve another chance to be happy."

"I'll think about it," I promised, following her to the bar where she retrieved her coat from one of the high-back stools and pulled it over her slight frame.

"You infuriate me sometimes," she pulled me into one final hug, "both of you."

I laughed, an easy almost carefree laugh, and it felt good. Watching Abby stride to her waiting car and disappear down the long, winding driveway, I realized that my hands weren't shaking anymore, the enormous weight was gone from my chest, I could breathe.

A new start seemed almost possible when I considered what Abby had shared with me. Perhaps I'd been thinking about the entire situation all wrong. We didn't need to pick right back up where we'd left off, we could date and talk on the phone, do things that normal couples do, well, as normal as one could be with the President of the United States. Movies, concerts, intimate dinners, it didn't need to be Vermont or nothing. Maybe the problem wasn't with Fitz and with me, perhaps it was this house, what it represented, its history, the ghosts that lived there. Selling the house might serve as the fresh start we both needed. We could build another house someday, make new memories, watch sunsets over different mountains, look out over a different pond, and fill different rooms with lots of babies. Vermont was the past, it was stolen hours and days, secrets and seclusion, it was our affair and maybe it couldn't be our future.

I retook my seat on the couch and opened the book again. I smiled at photos of Fitz in college, the man was gorgeous that was undeniable, and I let my mind wander. I pondered what Fitz was doing at that moment, wondered if he was alone. What had he eaten for dinner? Did he work through his meal or did he sit in the elaborate dining room of the residence all alone? Was he wrinkling his nose while reading the paper as was his habit or putting his finger to his lips while reviewing the latest version of a piece of legislation? When he got tired he would drop whatever he was reading to the table, close his eyes, and pinch the bridge of his nose. I smiled picturing him, sleeves rolled up, shirt wrinkled, tie loosened, top button undone. Those were the times when he was my Fitz, relaxed, yet confident and oddly Presidential. He was working, worrying about what was best for the country. And when he tired of furrowing his brow over one thing or another he would walk to whichever seat I was curled up in, usually lost in my own thoughts of policy, and he would kiss me. He would smile his lopsided grin, lean in close, tell me he loved me, and touch his lips to mine. _I never want to stop kissing you, loving you, cherishing you._

I listened as the phone rang once, twice, then the voice that would always warm me from the inside out, "Livvie?"

"Hi."

"Hi."


End file.
